A Passion for the Possible
by bookjunkie1975
Summary: Draco doesn't remember how to hope; Harry wants to help him. A Drarry fic for the Lemon Frosted Birthday Contest. Here there be slash. If that's not your thing, bail now.


**AN: This is for Nikki. Happy Birthday! **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry or Draco.** **Such a pity.**

There is a mouth wrapped around his cock. It's warm and wet and slides deliciously over his sensitized skin, tongue dancing in zig-zag patterns, cheeks hollowed with suction. Draco leans his head against the stone wall and squeezes his eyes shut, choking back a groan as fingers tighten and knead at the flesh around his thighs. His hips cant forwards and Draco slaps his hands forcefully against the wall, welcoming the sharp sting that brings him back to himself.

"Fuck, Potter."

A deep chuckle from below sends vibrations arrowing through his body and Draco has to clench his fingers into fists and drive his nails into the tender flesh of his palms to keep from sliding down the wall.

Callous roughened hands skim up Draco's sides, passing smoothly over ribs and around to his chest, pausing once to rub roughly against a nipple. Draco's breath hisses out through clenched teeth and suddenly Potter's body is pressed to his, one arm wrapped firmly around his back, the fingers of his other hand threading almost violently through his hair. His mouth explores Draco's neck and it's all tongue and teeth. Draco is moaning and pressing himself harder into Potter, hands grasping at the heavy folds of Potter's school robes. The coarse rasp of wool against skin reminds Draco that he is nearly naked while Potter remains fully clothed.

"Off," he says as his hands push against the robes.

Potter steps away from Draco, shrugs out of his robe and fumbles at the buttons on his shirt, then yanks it over his head impatiently before pushing his trousers down to his ankles. Draco smirks when the hem gets caught around Potter's foot and he ends up hopping around, trying to work it free. Then they are standing, breathless, across from each other.

This thing between Draco and Potter is still new enough that each meeting feels like a discovery. It's been four weeks of fevered gropes and desperate kisses in deserted hallways and abandoned classrooms. Draco's had his mouth and tongue on every inch of Potter's body and Potter's tasted him too. They've licked and sucked and bit and fucked and still Draco doesn't feel like it's enough. He thinks they could probably continue on this way every day for the rest of their eighth year and still Draco wouldn't have learned every secret of Potter's body. He wants to though. If Draco is honest with himself, and these days he tries very hard to be, Draco would like nothing more than to bury himself deep inside Potter, to wrap his body around the other boys and to stay there until the whole world dissolves around them. But that's not possible and Draco prefers to deal with reality. There's no use inviting disappointment when the world is cold enough as it is.

Potter is staring and Draco doesn't like the look in his eyes. There's desire but also something more. It's that something more that causes goosebumps to raise against Draco's skin and his heart to thump rapidly against his chest. Draco would like to step away for a moment, call a time out, find some way to distance himself. But he's backed into a corner here and he thinks that even if he closes his eyes he'll still see that deep, deep green. And besides, if he backed away then Potter wouldn't be able to touch him, and right now Draco _needs_ to be touched. It must show because suddenly Potter is there, hands and lips and body filling every inch of space around Draco. Then they're kissing. Draco clutches at Potter, pulling him impossibly closer, as Potter licks and nibbles and sucks at Draco's lip. A surge of warmth rises up through Draco's body and his hips jut forwards. His erection rubs up against silk-slick skin and Potter's whole body tenses.

"God. Malfoy." Potter moans against Draco's mouth and, just like that, Draco's legs are wrapped around Potter's hips and Potter is hoisting him up against the wall and thrusting against him.

Draco is aware he is making little, pained noises but he doesn't care. The rough scrape of the wall along his back is overshadowed by the delicious back and forth slide of his cock trapped between his and Potter's stomachs and the jolts of pleasure as Potter grinds feverishly against him.

"Shit. Fuck. I'm going to come," Potter's voice is shaky.

"Then do it."

"Not like this." Potter shakes his head. His body stills. He presses his forehead to Draco's chest and takes great gulps of air. Draco waits as Potter wills his body into submission. Finally, Potter looks up. "I want you inside me when I come."

This is something new. Potter's never bottomed before. Draco's body gives an involuntary jerk at the thought and Potter stumbles backwards. He has one hand firmly centred under Draco's ass and the other hand is splayed across Draco's back, supporting him, as he staggers blindly across the room. Draco feels a sudden jolt and then they are tumbling together across a bed that wasn't there 10 minutes ago. Draco silently gives thanks to all the Gods in existence for magic rooms and serendipitous furniture placement.

Potter lies sprawled across the bed, and Draco settles himself between his thighs. His eyes skim over Potter's body. Potter is all knees and elbows, hip bones just a little too prominent, shoulders a touch too wide for his lanky frame. Draco knows that when he runs his hands upwards he'll be able to feel each of Potter's ribs. There are little scars everywhere, thirty-eight of them, in fact. Draco spent one memorable Saturday exploring each and every one. But when Draco really looks at his boy he see's the promise of the man underneath.

Potter squirms a little under Draco's intense scrutiny. His hips tilt upwards and Draco's attention is drawn back down. Potter's cock is thick and straight and twitches as Draco bends over it. He flattens his tongue and licks a slow, long swipe from base to tip before settling his mouth gently over the head and taking him in. Potter's breath rushes out in a shaky, half gasp.

"Malfoy. Please."

Draco stretches his body up the bed to rest his forehead against Potter's.

"Are you sure this is what you want?"

"Since when do you bother to ask what I want?" Potter grins and there's no bite to the words, only an unbearable heat.

"Good point. Lube?"

"What?"

"Lube. For…"

"Oh, right. Um…maybe..." Potter twists and reaches to the side and Draco has to close his eyes against the slide of skin around his cock as Potter moves under him. "Here." Potter's voice is bright with triumph as his body twists again and a surge of heat floods Draco's chest. A cool, glass bottle is pressed into his hand and when Draco opens his eyes it's to meet Potter's own gaze, dark and steady and green. Something flares inside the warmth in Draco's chest; an uncomfortable press against Draco's ribs. Draco leans back, blinks, takes a steadying breath.

Draco busies himself with the bottle and tries to ignore the startling shift that's happening inside his traitorous body. He pours the thick liquid into his hands, coating his fingers before wrapping them firmly around Potter. He slides his hand up, twisting his wrist at the top of the movement, and smiles when he hears Potter's breath hiss out through clenched teeth. Draco indulges in a few more easy strokes, while his other hand drifts down, pressing and circling, teasing Potter's flesh until finally one finger is inside. He watches as Potter's eyes clench shut. Draco increases the pressure and speed of his hand on Potter's cock until the dark haired boy moans and then Draco adds another finger. He moves carefully, searching, until Potter's body suddenly arches off the bed.

"Fuck!" Potter pushes against Draco's hand so he adds a third finger, making sure to use the same motions while Potter writhes against him. They're both making noises now, low, guttural sounds full of want and need.

"Now," Potter gasps out. "Now, Draco. Fuck. Now."

Draco's breath catches when Potter says his name and the ache behind his ribs pushes out a little more. He pulls his fingers carefully away from Potter's body then fumbles for the bottle again. When he's ready, he slides his hands up Potter's thighs, resting his thumbs in the hollow of the other boy's hips.

"Flip over," he says.

"No." Potter shakes his head. "Want to see you."

Draco pulls Potter's legs up and rests them against his shoulders. He positions himself so that his body hovers over the other boy. His cock rests just at Potter's entrance. Draco steadies himself and then pushes. It's one solid thrust and then warmwarmwarm and Draco thinks he could die right here and now because nothing will ever feel this good again. Potter's whole body has gone rigid. His hands are clenched at his sides, eyes squeezed shut tight.

"Breathe," Draco commands and Potter does.

Draco holds himself very still as Potter breathes in and out. It's torture. Every inch of Draco's body is screaming at him to move, to thrust forward, hard and fast and over and over until he falls headlong into his own pleasure. But Potter asked him for this and he's going to do it right. Draco wants desperately to remember what success feels like. Finally, Potter lets his legs drop and wraps them around Draco's waist, pulling him in. Draco holds back a whimper. Barely.

"Ok." Potter's voice is shaky but his eyes are open and he's looking at Draco with so much want. Draco leans forward and presses his lips to Potter's. The other boy groans into his mouth and tangles his fingers into Draco's hair. Potter's hips buck up and suddenly Draco's whole body is on fire.

"Shit, Potter." Draco gasps the words against Potter's lips.

"Harry."

Draco props himself up, arms on either side of Potter's head.

"What?"

"You're inside me, Draco. I think you can call me Harry."

Draco's chest tightens. The ache is getting bigger, pushing hard against him now. He draws a shaky breath and looks down at the other boy.

"That would change things," he says.

"I suppose it would." Potter meets his eyes with a steady gaze.

Draco feels frozen. He recognizes this for what it is – a crossroads. He has a choice to make. He can go on as before. There might be more quick gropes and casual fucks but at the end of the year Potter will go one way and Draco, the other. Or maybe, he can choose to move forward, with Potter. But Draco doesn't have much faith in the choices that he makes anymore. And he's not sure he remembers how to hope.

Potter is watching him. Draco sees the need and the want and that something new. He can't move, can barely breathe. Then Potter blinks and it's gone. And Draco feels something close to panic. The ache in his chest is clawing at him now, threatening to tear him open from the inside. He grabs Potter's hand, links their fingers together and surges forward. The pressure keeps building. Draco feels like he can't contain it anymore, like it's ready to burst out of his skin, break him into a thousand pieces. He thrusts forward again and again while Potter writhes underneath him, panting and gasping. Desperate, needy sounds break their way out of Draco's throat and the whole world seems to be tilting and shifting around him but still Draco keeps moving. And then Potter's whole body is shaking and he's coming and Draco's coming and the pressure explodes from his chest and it's good, so, so good.

Draco feels light, like a burden he didn't know he was carrying is finally gone. When he can breathe again, when his body has finally stopped shaking and shuddering, Draco finds himself half draped over Potter. His body is sticky with sweat and come but he doesn't care.

Potter moves out from under him, swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress and sitting up. This is familiar to Draco; the normal "thanks for the fun and see you later." They don't linger. They don't do "after-glow." Draco's hand shoots out and grabs Potter's wrist. He tugs Potter firmly back down next to him.

"What are you doing?" Potter's eyes are wide, cautious.

Draco looks at Potter. He feels a slow, lazy smile stretch across his face.

"I'm changing things. Harry."

The smile that breaks across the other boys face is wide and bright and possibly, although Draco would never admit this out-loud, the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Potter – Harry, now – pulls Draco to him.

Later, as Draco's eyes drift shut, head pressed against Harry's chest, listening to the steady thumpthumpthump of Harry's heart, legs tangled together under the blankets, Draco thinks, _this must be what hope feels like_. And then Draco sleeps.

Finite.


End file.
